Morning comes and I haven’t felt more proud of myself. I feel incredibly duped and hurt, yet proud to put this (finally) behind me.
*blue balls not included.
I don’t know if it’s a reason or not, but apparently I finally received somewhat of an answer. I was the only one being serious about any sort of future relationship in the matter of Mel & SSD. What-the-fuck-ever. He says (through friend) that “I knew that it wasn’t serious” (I did not get this memo) and “We were just having fun” (Fun. Sure, Fun-freakin-tastic). How-do-you-do, now go fuck yourself. AND he has the NERVE — let me extend that — the NERVE to text me at 2:45 in the morning to tell me he’s “in Lakewood” and it’s a “short drive.” I respond “good for you” and “lose this number” respectively. I get “why so hateful” and “donatos pizza.” Again, so fucking done with this text message bullshit, I write, “I’m over it” and “I don’t eat fucking pizza anymore you fucking asshole and stop fucking text message-torturing me.” Okay, I may have made up that last quote. I shut my phone down and quietly turned into my sofa around 4am… with a frozen pizza. That’s why I don’t keep this shit in my house. But, visitors need food at the casa.
Morning comes and I haven’t felt more proud of myself. I feel incredibly duped and hurt, yet proud to put this (finally) behind me.
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
